


What Pleases You

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier | Dandelion Go To The Coast, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is the one where Geralt and Jaskier go to the coast and learn to heal. Learn what pleases them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	What Pleases You

**Author's Note:**

> Still working on chapters for other stories but this one was like "WRITE ME, BITCH!" so I acquiesced. I've also accepted that my preferred chapters equal to around 1-1.5k words each and I should stop fighting against that.

“We could go to the coast?” suggests Jaskier in a quiet voice. In his periphery, Geralt sees the vulnerability in Jaskier’s eyes, the line of tension in his posture. There’s a lot more to this request than he’s telling Geralt. “Get away for a while?”

The coast sure sounds like a lovely reprieve. Better down there than up here on this godforsaken mountain. Geralt closes his eyes and pictures Borch, Téa and Véa fall. He always knew he was useless, but the memory of holding that flimsy length of chain has reminded him just how much.

He’s in no mood to bring more death and chaos to anyone else. And Yennefer certainly doesn’t need him. Hasn’t spoken more than a handful of words to him, really, and when she does, she doesn’t look at him. Has he been imagining everything between them? If he goes to her tent right now, will they talk? Or will they fuck and forget everything that’s gone sour between them (if it’s ever been sweet), and pretend three people didn’t just die?

Thoughts race in his mind until they all blend. Incoherent with rage and grief and self-loathing. He doesn’t know what to think or feel.

He still remembers how the chains felt in his hands before they went slack. The weight of Borch’s gaze on him as he fell through the clouds. Acceptance of his demise in there, ‘it’s okay you’ve done enough.’ And it’s _bullshit_.

Perhaps it’s better to not feel a thing.

“G-Geralt?” Jaskier prompts nervously.

An eagle screeches above their heads as it soars lazily through the sky. What will it take for Geralt to become as free and unburdened as a bird?

Geralt stands. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough.”

* * *

Yennefer is not impressed.

“You’re leaving when we’re this close to getting that dragon?” Her lips pull back in a disbelieving sneer. “When we’re this close to getting what we want—”

A blanket of mist rolls into the valley hundreds of feet beneath them. The lush green of the mountains frames Yennefer beautifully as she stands on the edge of a rocky ledge above the impromptu camp they have set. It’s all so gorgeous, picturesque, and Geralt wants no part of it anymore.

“There’s nothing I want that the dragon could give to me.” _I only came here because of you._ He doesn’t say it, but from her shuttered expression he reckons she heard him think it. “Good luck with the dragon, Yen. I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

There’s a few hours left of the day. If they’re quick about it, Geralt reckons he and Jaskier will cover a decent distance before nightfall. Not enough to get back to Roach though.

“I need this dragon, Geralt,” she calls after his retreating back. He stops, stiff. Doesn’t look back at her. “For all that I’ve lost, I need it. This could be my—Geralt, I could regain everything I’ve lost. As much as it pains me to say…I need your help.”

If she had spoken these words a few hours ago, Geralt knows he would have leapt at the chance to prove himself useful to her. She’s the only reason he came along on this harebrained mission. The words, however, stir nothing within him now. The flame between them has sputtered and died, the memory already beginning to dissipate between them like smoke.

He looks back at her. “I’m sorry, Yennefer.”

“It’s always the same.” Yennefer turns from Geralt like she can no longer bear to have him in her sight. Folds her arms across her chest and watches a few birds loop through the skies. The air around her crackles with badly repressed magic. “Shove it up your arse, witcher, and go.”

Geralt goes.

Jaskier stands at the foot of the slope with their bags at his feet, fiddling with the strap of his lute. When he spots Geralt, it’s hard not to notice the look of sheer relief when he sees that Geralt is alone. Had he thought Geralt would convince Yennefer to follow them? Unlikely. His chances of convincing the mountain beneath their feet to grow legs and walk are much higher than persuading Yennefer to do anything she doesn’t want to do. Perhaps that’s for the best.

Jaskier opens and closes his mouth several times without uttering a word.

“Are you alright?” he asks in an undertone, to which Geralt responds with a grunt. “Is that everything?”

“That’s everything. Let’s go.” Geralt slings his bags across his back, hitching his shoulders until the weight becomes comfortable. “We have a lot of ground to cover before we get back to Roach.”

“Are you…okay?”

“I’ll be far better when we’re away from this damned mountain.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more, dear witcher.”

Jaskier recovers a lot of the confidence he’s been weirdly lacking the further they get from the mountain, from the dragon hunt. Swings his lute from his back to his chest and, after gauging Geralt’s mood by plucking a few strings, begins to sing. Softly at first, then louder when Geralt doesn’t protest.

Truth be told, the singing is a welcome distraction from Geralt’s churning thoughts. He doesn’t want to question himself, his decisions, now. Three people are dead and he just, for better or worse, broke up with Yennefer and shoved her dreams back at her. The dead can’t return to life, Yennefer will never take him back if he reconsiders. He’s made this damn bed; he’s going to lie in it.

“Sing the one about the lord and the fair maiden,” he finds himself requesting of Jaskier during his break between songs.

The grin Jaskier shoots him is brighter than the sun itself.

“Of course, dear witcher, of course.”

* * *

When they stop for camp as the pinkening skies turn a deep bruised purple. Within half an hour it will be too dark for Jaskier to safely continue, so Geralt takes them toward a copse of trees and declares the area good enough to camp in. He can’t hear anything particularly dangerous in the area. Considering all the talk of dragons, it’s as safe as they’re gonna get around here.

“Build a fire,” he says, stalking into the woods. “I’ll get dinner.”

He stalks a deer longer than necessary, stabs it with his sword harder than he needs to when he corners the trembling thing between himself and an embankment. Watches its blood flow from the stab wound, seeping into the damp earth, before he sighs and picks the deer up and carries it back to camp. He smells the roaring fire before he sees it, sees Jaskier sitting in front of it with a pensive, almost sad, look on his face before Jaskier sees him.

Jaskier plasters a smile on his face. “That’s a big one! Think we’ll be able to eat that all tonight?”

“Mmm.” Dropping it near the fire, Geralt pulls out a dagger, kneels, and starts skinning it. “We can dry some of the meat out and keep it for later. It will be a long time before we reach the coast.”

They don’t talk when the meat cooks. They don’t talk when they eat it. Nor when Geralt dries some of it out and wraps it up for later. He’s about to go put it in Roach’s saddlebags when he remembers she’s not here. Sits back down, sighing in frustration, and pretends he doesn’t see Jaskier’s cautious glance in his direction.

It’s fine. It’s all just…fine.


End file.
